


The Wheres and Whens Of It All

by thinlizzy2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/pseuds/thinlizzy2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There have been so many times when Dean could have kissed Castiel, but didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wheres and Whens Of It All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PajamaSecrets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PajamaSecrets/gifts).



> Written for pajamasecrets for the DCSS exchange in 2012.

Dean has imagined his first kiss with Castiel probably a million times by now.

He’s pictured it on long drives as the little white lines on the road speed past, blurring into an unending streak. He’s thought about it in lonely motel rooms with Sam snoring gently from the next bed, and then willfully forced the visions from his mind before he was tempted to do something that would almost certainly wake up his brother and result in all kinds of embarrassment. During episodes of pain and fear, he’s taken refuge in the way Cas’s lips would feel against his and he’s let his brain happily drift there during rare moments of peace.

It’s supposed to happen. Dean knows that, in the same way that he knows he’s supposed to fight monsters, protect Sam, breathe in and out. It’s one of those things that’s meant to be somehow woven into the fabric of his life. 

He’s just never known _how_.

 

 

It could have happened at the beginning. Fuck, the _beginning_. Back when Castiel had been that unknown thing, crackling with danger and power, and Dean had been fresh out of Hell and newly burdened with the knowledge of just how dangerous he himself could be. 

He had imagined it with a mix of terror and longing then: Castiel shoving him up against a wall, eyes glinting as he pulled Dean downwards, claiming what was his. He had relished the thought of the scratch of stubble against his cheeks, the prickle of it on the delicate skin of his throat. Castiel’s grip would have been like a vise on Dean’s hips and the inhuman heat of Castiel’s body radiating through both their clothes would have seared him.

Being with Castiel in those early days would more than likely have been a mistake. It would have been a betrayal of what he’d always believed about his intrinsic humanity - that there was an us and a them and that humans deserved better than to serve as the playthings or experiments or pets of other beings who just happened to be created stronger than they were. Dean had known that, even as he’d fantasised about waking up locked in that iron grip.

But he would have let Castiel do it then; there’s not a single doubt in Dean’s mind about that. He would have been frightened, yes, but also exhilarated. He would have opened his mouth and his body up and given himself over. He doesn’t know what would have happened afterwards; he’d like to believe that he would still have had the strength to resist what the other angels had wanted him to do. But in that moment, beyond any question, he would have been entirely Castiel’s.

It doesn’t matter though. Because it didn’t happen then.

 

 

Or it could have happened in the time after that, once Cas had died and come back and once Dean had begun to realize that - for better or for worse - he’d added someone to the very short list of people he considered family. Those were the days when Dean had been able to picture Castiel making a home of sorts in the back seat of the Impala. It was the time when he’d imagined trying to delicately explain to Sam why they needed to start getting separate rooms.

Kissing Castiel would have been easy in those months, just a matter of reaching over and closing those few frustrating inches that were always between them. He could have leaned over some diner table or backed Cas against his car door. He could have picked up the telephone on any given night and just said _Cas, can you come over? I’ve got to kiss you, right this second._

He still believes Castiel would have come.

There was one particular time he still remembers. He and Sam had been working in that chilly basement, poking at the hearts of Famine’s victims and trying to act like that wasn’t a totally weird way for two reasonably attractive young guys to be spending a Friday night. He’d needed to call Cas in and before he’d even finished giving their location, the angel had appeared. 

And Dean had been struck by just how natural it would have felt to reach forward and give him a kiss. A little peck on the lips or a soft warm press against the smooth skin under Castiel’s ear. Nothing too racy; Sam was right over there and they were in a freaking _morgue_ , after all. Just put his mouth on skin, make a personal declaration that they were going there and soon. He’d actually been moving forward, was just a breath away when Castiel announced he was hanging up the phone and Dean realized just how ridiculous he was being.

If Castiel had waited just a couple of seconds longer to speak, it would have happened then. But it didn’t.

 

 

It could have happened in that horrible year, while he was finding and losing and finding both his brother and his angel so many times over. Dean is still a bit surprised it _didn’t_ happen then, that with the sense of everything slipping away from him he hadn’t simply grabbed hold of Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat and hauled him in, fastening their mouths together and holding Castiel firmly in place, just _there_ , with him.

In addition to all the craziness, good old-fashioned jealousy has always been a powerful motivator for him. And _fuck_ , he’d wanted to tear Balthazar’s hands off of Cas - or, in particularly bad moments, he’d wanted to just plain tear them off - more times than he could count. He’d see the other angel run a finger under the collar of Castiel’s suit jacket or slide his thumb across his jaw, and Dean hadn’t just wanted to kiss Cas. He’d wanted to bite him, to draw blood and leave marks, to let everyone know just what was _his_.

Although he’d begun to question that himself when Castiel had locked lips with Meg, right in front of him. He still remembers the sinking feeling in his chest, the way the bile had risen in his throat when he realized that there was now no way that Castiel’s first kiss could be his. He’d reeled away in shock, adding to the growing distance between them when all he’d really wanted to do was pull Cas closer.

He’ll probably always wonder what would had happened if he had followed those instincts. Would Cas have had a reason to turn away from the dark path he had begun to follow? Would Dean’s acknowledged, unashamed love have been enough, or would Castiel’s misguided pride still have won out?

Dean’s not sure, and he never will be. Because that isn’t when it happened.

 

 

It very nearly happened at a time when Castiel wasn’t even really Castiel. Dean had just done away with the demon that had been holding Typical Suburban Daphne prisoner in her Typical Suburban Home, when her not at all typical husband had walked up and it had taken every inch of Dean’s self restraint not to gather the guy up in his arms and seal their mouths together, fastening himself against this guy who looked and sounded and smelled so much like Cas. Castiel’s - _Emmanuel’s_ \- confused stare had been the only thing that had stopped him.

Even in the car, it had taken a lot out of him not to just pull over and see if he could kiss some sense into the guy riding shotgun. Sure, it was stupid fairy-tale shit and he knew it, but he was sitting beside a fallen angel who had returned from the dead so many times that Dean had honestly begun to lose count. Was it really too much to expect that true love’s kiss might be the cure-all for this particular problem?

It wasn’t until Castiel’s memory _was_ actually back, when Dean could be sure that he would actually be kissing the being he’d wanted to kiss for years, that he had decided against it. Because as happy as he had been to know Cas was alive, that he was himself again, that their story hadn’t come to an end, he hadn’t been able to put aside the anger that he still felt. It had tainted his joy like a cloud floating past the sun on a previously perfect day, and, after all they had been through, Dean hadn’t wanted that shadow on their first kiss. 

So he’d stepped back and walked away. And it hadn’t happened then.

 

Dean has never imagined it happening at a time like this. Or in such a place.

He’s exhausted, and he knows Cas must be too. They’ve spent what feels like endless days trudging through purgatory, dodging all the nightmares they could and fighting all the ones they couldn’t. The only reasons they’ve stopped now is because collapsing is the only other option. Benny falls asleep almost immediately, with a growled warning not to wake him up unless their lives are actively in danger. And Dean’s pretty much set to pass out himself; he’s got his jacket folded up under his head and the fuzzy haze of sleep is starting to fill his head. So when he feels a gentle whisper of pressure against his mouth, he’s not entirely certain it isn’t a dream.

Not until he opens his eyes and sees Castiel staring back at him, just a breath away. Castiel strokes Dean’s cheek softly, whispers good night, moves to pull back. But Dean won’t let him; he grabs the back of Castiel’s neck and pulls him down just as he himself rises up. They meet in the middle, lips crushing against each other at first and then opening up for deeper tastes. Dean lets his hands roam, gliding over the muscles of Castiel’s chest, climbing under the back of that stupid white hospital t-shirt to trace the links of his spine. 

He’s dizzy and giddy. Waves of sensation roll over his skin, centering from every place he touches Castiel. He’s so grateful when Cas settles alongside him so that he can press their bodies together, lie belly-to-belly and trap one of Castiel’s legs between his own. He knows, in this instant, that he’s never going to be able to get enough.

He doesn’t know how long it is before they stop. Time moves differently here, and he’s been so lost in Castiel that it could very well have been days. But the sky is definitely lightening when Castiel settles Dean on top of him, gathering him up in his arms and murmuring the Dean really should rest.

Dean can’t help but agree. But before he succumbs to sleep, there’s just one thing he needs to know.

“Cas?” He whispers against the rough fabric of Castiel’s coat. “Why now?”

Castiel’s hands falter a bit before he resumes stroking Dean’s back. “I... got tired of waiting.”

And Dean laughs softly. Because after all this time, it ends up happening in Purgatory, with a sleeping vampire six feet away and monsters all around. And it doesn’t even matter.

Because the only important thing is that it happened. And it will happen again.


End file.
